


Ghosts

by jmtorres



Category: Farscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-14
Updated: 2003-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmtorres/pseuds/jmtorres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stark admires Crais's ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

The third time Stark met Bialar Crais, he fell unabashedly in love with him. 

It wasn't spiritual or romantic love, like what he held for Zhaan, or the strange bonds of not-quite-forced, but somehow necessary, desperate kinship he'd formed with John Crichton in their cell. It was more like the infatuation he'd had for his first teacher, the wonder of seeing the old Stykera's thousand ghosts radiating from him in order, in sequence, in a logical pattern like chain mail that spread the weight out so he could bear it, and still speak to the living now and again. Stark's ghosts had been chaotic, tugging on him, making demands and punishing him when he couldn't fulfill them, until the old man had shown him how to make the ghosts behave.

Crais could do the same thing, could make his unruly gaggle of ghosts fall in line--without the Stykera training. It amazed Stark. Crais wasn't equipped to deal with ghosts, shouldn't have even attracted them as he did, and yet somehow, _somehow--_

But that was why Stark was in love with Crais, because Crais could do the impossible, could ghost-speak untrained, and it hadn't even driven him as crazy as it had driven Stark. Compared to himself, Crais was still _sane._

Stark loved to watch. He tried to keep track of all of Crais's ghosts, and though he would always lose count, he did learn to recognize them all. There were the bird-men with no skin between slick bones and sharp feathers, the oozing lepers who had dispersed Stark, the fire-breather who had martyred himself at the shadow depository--and this was the one who made Stark realize Crais was something special, because although the fire-breather had died without Crais in personal attendance, Crais still somehow managed to save that soul from an eternity of damned wandering.

Stark thought it might be Talyn. Talyn had a greater range for personal attendance than Crais; Talyn could greet other beings in person from thousands of metras away. It might even have been Talyn's senses that allowed Crais to perceive the ghosts in the first place. Sebaceans didn't have the right kind of sight for it, but Leviathans seemed to. This was an amazing thing. Stark had never before seen a Stykera use a symbiotic relationship to increase his own powers.

Stark had never before met a Stykera who _wanted_ to increase his own powers. They had a _duty_ to the dead, and it was not a pleasant one. Crais did not know what he was doing. He couldn't know.

And yet he could deal with the ghosts with practiced ease. There was a Sebacean with Crais's black eyes and curly dark hair who spat angry insults at John Crichton constantly, and could only be appeased if Crais himself said something cutting to the human. Crais knew how to find the half a dozen words he could say to Crichton without being immediately shot, utter them with sufficient contempt to make the ghost pleased enough to fade into the background, and then half-apologize to Crichton when the ghost was gone. 

There was also the screaming woman--also Sebacean, although she had flat blonde hair, like the woman Crichton had been hiding in his head through all of his sessions in the Aurora Chair. The screaming woman was a strange ghost because she oscillated between recriminations and docility. Ghosts could not change from what they had been in the moment they died; that was what separated them from the living. (It was also why Stykera were trained to keep a secret, calming memory for the dying, so that their dead would be peaceful. Crais's ghosts were not peaceful.) Most ghosts had an obviously static mode of existence, in the way of Crais's dark-haired ghost, who had never forgiven John Crichton for his own death, even though Crais himself had. But the screaming woman went back and forth between states, as if she had been on the knife's edge when she died. And Crais knew how to tip her into the infinitely more pleasant docility.

In her screaming fits, the woman would ask Crais why, over and over, why did you do it, why did you do this to me, I would have kept your secret, I only wanted to help you--and the instant she uttered this phrase, "I only wanted to help you," Crais would give a brief glance upwards as if praying (being planetborn, he found God in the heavens) and his silent answer would roll off of him so clearly Stark could hear it: "If you want to help me, then _do_ so." Then the screaming woman would immediately calm down and offer him all sorts of advice. If it was relevant, Crais would repeat it aloud to John Crichton and Aeryn Sun. If it wasn't (and it often wasn't, because the screaming woman never learned anything new about their situation, she could only speak on matters as they had been before her death), he would hold his tongue, because the instant he let her know that she was more trouble than aid, the screaming woman would demand to know _why._

Stark was fascinated by Crais's ghosts, and thought he knew all of them. There was one thing that troubled him, though. Stark had never seen Crais quiet Xhalax Sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [dreamwidth](http://jmtorres.dreamwidth.org/325960.html).


End file.
